My Fault
by Avenginghunters
Summary: Sam doesn't survive the end of season 2, and Dean doesn't take it well.


Dean couldn't stop screaming. He knew he would have to stop eventually because his throat was getting more raw and pained him more with every second that passed, but it just hurt too damn much to do anything but howl at every deity he had ever heard of. He held tight to Sam's bloody body and felt his screams falter and turn into wracking sobs that felt like they were splitting his chest in two with their power. He felt hands on his shoulders and only just remembered Bobby had been with them when Sam was stabbed.

"Come on, Boy." Bobby spoke more gently than would be expected of the gruff hunter. He tried to pry Dean's hands off of Sam's shoulders where he was hugging, but Dean lashed violently out. Dean growled and shoved Bobby before pulling out the knife he kept in his boot. Bobby pulled a pistol out and squared it at Dean.

"Look, boy. I know you're hurting, but we've got work to do. Get up and get going before more people have to die." Bobby stared with barely concealed grief at the broken man he saw before him. He hated to do that to Dean, hated making mourning play second fiddle, but if they were going to figure out what yellow-eyes' plan with the psychic kids was they had to get moving.

Dean felt a pang of horrific pain in his gut as they loaded Sammy into the backseat of the Impala. He was big, bigger than Dean had ever realized and very difficult to get into the seat with just the two of them. Dean declined Bobby's offer to drive him back to the cabin they were staying at, and instead rolled the windows down and played his music loud. He couldn't crack, not now. He had a job to finish. The cracking came later.

~~~ Three Months Later~~~

"Boy! Open this door right now. "Dean could hear Bobby yelling through the closed door, over his radio, and through the haze that had settled over his mind since he'd checked into whatever the shitty hotel was called. He thought about getting up, skirting around the discarded clothes and weaponry that lay strewn about the room, finding the keys to the impala and going out, but the ache in his chest and the intense nausea that sat like a boulder in his stomach was enough to keep him in bed through the most apocalyptic of situations. He could handle a surly drunk pounding on the door.

Dean was fully prepared to wait Bobby out. He knew that the owners of the hotel or possibly other occupants would confront the lunatic, and with Dean's police record Bobby wouldn't let it get down to calling the cops. He simply pulled one of the pillows over his head and concentrated on anything but the mixture of grief and shame that clung mercilessly onto his mind and heart. Sam wouldn't want him to wallow in a hotel room drinking for hours, but what the hell else was he supposed to do?

"I'm giving you three seconds." Bobby's voice was normal, even abnormally calm considering the conditions. Dean ignored him and continued to lay face down on the hard mattress, replaying that night over and over again in his mind. He could have saved Sammy. He'd come to that conclusion at least a thousand times since then, and it only gained validity with each replay.

Dean sprang out of bed at the sound of crashing. He reached for the knife that he kept under the pillow, but came back empty handed. When had he stopped putting that there? He whirled around only to find Bobby recovering from kicking the door down. Bobby held his knee with a grimace, but didn't stop looking Dean dead in the eye for even a moment.

"Get it out."

"You already know what I'm gonna say."

"Say it anyway." Dean challenged. His head was pounding, but whatever Bobby had to say the hunter wouldn't rest until he's said it.

Bobby stepped closer to Dean, hands reaching for both of Dean's shoulders. Dean almost apologized for not letting him in when he saw the hurt in Bobby's eyes, but stopped short. It was his life and he had the right to do with it what he wished.

"I know it hurts, Sam being gone. It felt like my heart was torn in two when we burned that boy, and I can't imagine what you feel like, but you can't go on like this. Sam would want you to stop hunting, or at least don't drink yourself into oblivion. You deserve better."

"I don't Bobby. I could have done more. Sammy is dead because I fucked everything up. I had one job to do, and that was protect Sam. Watch over Sam. Keep Sam out of fucking trouble and I couldn't do it."

Dean wanted to get in the impala and tear out of there when he saw Bobby's eyes. He couldn't tell if it was sadness or pity that filled them, but either way he didn't want any of it.

Bobby raised his voice slightly and shook Dean as if to impress upon him the importance of his words. "You couldn't have saved him, Dean. He died because of things you can't control and you're going to have to accept that. You're a goddamned hero, Dean, but If you don't get back up on the horse or at least clean your act up then you're wasting your brother's sacrifice. Plain and simple."

"I'm not a hero." He whispered nearly to himself. He had cracked. It wasn't violent or loud. He simply grabbed the Impala's keys, ran past Bobby, and slid calmly in the driver's seat. Dean Winchester pulled out of the hotel, Dead or Alive blasting on the radio.

~~~One Year Later~~~

"Hey boy. It's good to see you again." Bobby Singer stood beside his home with a small smile spread across his face. It was almost dark, but it felt good to see the boys every now and then no matter the time.

"Dean. I finally fixed up your baby. Really messed up the front end with that crash of yours. She runs like a beauty though." He said.

Bobby felt the tear welling up in his eye and knew it was time to go. He wasn't ashamed to cry, but he knew if he started crying it might take a long while for him to stop, and others needed him too. He smiled despite the tears and silently poured the remainder of the beer he held onto the ground.

"Bye boys."

He waved goodbye to the two identical wooden crosses and headed inside.


End file.
